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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








See Temperance Meeting, p. 40. 



T ALES 
^a~~ 0~r£ • of ^- /£~~f* ^<^ 

INTEMPERANCE. 



■ 



BY AN OBSERVER. 




Written for the Massachusetts Sabbath School Society, 
and revised by the Committee of Publication. 












BOSTON: 



MASSACHUSETTS SABBATH SCHOOL SOCIETY. 

Depository, No. 25 Cornhill. 



1836. 



- 









Entered according to act -of Congress, 'in ' the vear 1336/ 

BY CHRISTOPHER C. DEAN, 

in the Clerk's Oftice of the IJistrict Court of Massachusetts. 

1 . — ! , J v 



£ffO 



INTRODUCTION. 



The scenes and sketches in this vol- 
ume are all drawn from real life, and 
unadorned with imaginary drapery. 
They are believed to be true, to the 
letter. To those who would feel more in- 
terest in truth arrayed in the costume of 
fiction, and adorned with bright pictures 
of the imagination, the author would 
suggest the inquiry, whether, in an age 
abounding with artificial embellishment, 
such a thing may not sometimes occur, 
as Truth, " when unadorned, adorned 
the most." If the commonness of the 
occurrences should be thought a valid 
objection to their being written out for 
the public, it may still be urged that 



V INTRODUCTION. 

some of the worst features of human 
nature are so exceedingly common, as 
almost to lose their power to arouse the 
conscience. Men will sometimes ex- 
hibit traits of character, habitually, 
which, if described in plain language, 
would astonish and perhaps alarm them; 
as children will often exhibit a counte- 
nance which frightens or mortifies 
them if they chance to behold it in a 
faithful mirror. It is also to be borne 
in mind that it is common errors, and 
frequent mischiefs, which most need a 
remedy. Those which are uncommon 
and startling, carry, to some extent, 
their remedy along with them. We 
need to guard with most vigilance 
against vice in those circumstances, 
where, 

cc Seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
We first endure, then pitVj then embrace," 



CONTENTS 



Page. 

The Temperance Society... The Relapsed, 9 

The Reclaimed, 16 

The Wounded, . . . 30 

The Temperance Meetings, 40 

The Truant Boy, .............. 62 

The Generous Hearted, .......... 83 

Who are its Victims ? 93 



TALES OF INTEMPERANCE. 



THE TEMPERANCE SOCIETY THE 

RELAPSED. 

It was a severe winter's mornings 
near the commencement of the temper- 
ance reformation, in the " Valley of the 
Penobscot," when, in compliance with 
a previous invitation, I left the quiet 
Seminary for a ride of some twenty 
miles to give an address on temper- 
ance. The cold wind blew fiercely in 
my face, filling my eyes with dust, (for 
the ground was still uncovered,) and 
throwing off the cloak, which it was in 
vain to attempt confining to its proper 
place. A horse-back ride, in such cir- 
cumstances, was a comfortless under- 
taking ; but it was borne with tolera- 
ble courage, in the hope of doing some- 
thing to arrest the cruel scourge which 
2 



10 THE TEMPERANCE SOCIETY : 

had spread desolation through these 
young settlements, as well as in older 
sections of the land. On arriving at 
the place, it was gratifying to meet a 
hearty welcome from the gentleman 
who was interested in the enterprise, 
and had made arrangements for the 
meeting. He had been a merchant for 
many years, and had retailed many a 
hogshead of the " liquid fire," but his 
eyes had been opened, and he had ban- 
ished the " execrable stuff" from his 
store, and now desired to undo the 
evils of his former course. With a few 
of his neighbors he had signed an in- 
strument by which they engaged to ab- 
stain from the use of ardent spirits, and 
to unite in a temperance society when 
a suitable time might arrive for its for- 
mation. They expected some opposi- 
tion, as there were two taverns and 
two or three stores, not far distant, 
where it was still kept ; and if they did 
not expect opposition from them, still it 
might be expected from those who ob- 
tained their supplies from these foun- 



THE RELAPSED. 11 

tains. But this evening* must be the 
time for the organization of a society. 
It was a cold, cheerless evening, but 
curiosity drew out such as had no other 
motive,— curiosity to hear the first tem- 
perance lecture. The school-house 
was thronged, and the listening atten- 
tion bespoke a candid audience, dispos- 
ed to look at the matter seriously. The 
address closed with a request that all 
who were disposed to abandon the use 
of ardent spirits, and use their influence 
for the suppression of intemperance, 
would signify it by rising. More than 
half the congregation rose at once, and 
one and another, after looking around 
with astonishment, followed the exam- 
ple, till very few remained seated. It 
was then resolved to form a temper- 
ance society, and a constitution of the 
common form was adopted, and signed 
by a large majority of those present, 
and the constitution excluded wine as 
well as distilled liquor. The next morn- 
ing it was gratifying to learn that the 
society numbered over one hundred 



12 THE TEMPERANCE SOCIETY : 

members ; that one of the merchants 
had signed the pledge, and was about 
abandoning the sale of spirits, and that 
the keepers of the taverns had mutu- 
ally pledged themselves to banish the 
poison from their houses. Public sen- 
timent had now taken hold of this work 
in a manner which gave strong hopes 
of its success. But there was one aged 
man who was the object of conversa- 
tion and sympathy. The friends of 
temperance were disappointed in seeing 
him there, and still more disappointed 
in seeing him rise among the first to 
advocate the formation of a temper- 
ance society, and to witness the inter- 
est he seemed to feel in these move- 
ments. But no one had offered him the 
pledge. He had been so notoriously in- 
temperate, they were afraid of him, 
and many thought he was the worse 
for liquor at the time. I knew but lit- 
tle of his history for more than a year 
after, save that he laid aside the use of 
spirits, and was thought by many a re- 
formed man. 



THE RELAPSED. 13 

In the spring of 1832, while visiting 
that neighborhood, the following entry 

was made in my notebook. " Mr. , 

a man on whom I called on Tuesday, 
is probably a victim of intemperance. 
He has lived in this town for many 
years ; his wife is a pious good mother, 
and they have an interesting family of 
children. His good native talents, and 
superior intelligence qualified him for 
usefulness, and secured for him a fair 
proportion of influence ; but the passion 
for intoxicating liquor grew upon him, 
destroyed the confidence of the people, 
and brought sorrow upon his family, 
when the first temperance lecture was 
given in this town he attended, but in 
order to arm and equip himself for the 
occasion, he carried his jug to the store 
near the place of meeting, bought two 
quarts of liquor, drank a considera- 
ble quantity, and left his jug in the 
store. During the lecture he seemed 
quite agitated, and as they proceeded 
to form a society, he was quite forward 
in giving advice about its formation, al- 
2* 



14 THE TEMPERANCE SOCIETY: 

though it is probable he was then some- 
what excited by the liquor he had tak- 
en. He would have joined the society 
if any one had given him opportunity, 
but they feared he would be an injury 
to the cause. He went back to the 
store and called for a measure, and 
poured the contents of his jug into it, 
apparently to see how much had been 
taken by him before attending the lec- 
ture. He sat looking at it for some time 
in a kind of reverie, and at length, 
seeming to gather resolution, he gave 
the measure a desperate kick, and emp- 
tied its contents on the floor, and then 
told the merchant to fill his jug with 
molasses, and never again put up spir- 
its for him, let who would call for it. 
This direction has been complied with ; 
for the merchant had that evening join- 
ed the temperance society, and forth- 
with abandoned the vile traffic. Mr. — 
went home with solemn resolutions, 
which he firmly adhered to for several 
months. Hope dawned on his family, 
and the neighbors thought him a reform- 
ed, happy man. But there came an 



THE RELAPSED. 15 

evil hour. He had visiters from New 
Hampshire, and unfortunately they be- 
longed to the " dry list." They could 
ridicule temperance societies, and they 
rallied him on his cold water notions, 
till he went and bought some of the 
drunkard's quietus, and drank with 
them, and ha*s since been confirmed in 
his former habits. It is the opinion of 
some who best know him, that if he 
had signed the pledge, he would have 
lived accordingly, and that all the ef- 
forts of his visiters would not have been 
able to move him. Now there is rea- 
son to fear he is a ruined man. There 
is still, however, some hope ; his mind 
is occasionally impressed with religious 
truth, and would he but abandon his 
cups, there would be strong grounds of 
hope. Will not those who have influ- 
ence with him, labor for this result, and 
pray that the grace of God will pluck 
him as a brand from the burning, and 
make him a new creature in Christ ?" 



THE RECLAIMED. 

" He was lost — and is found. " 

It was late on Saturday evening-, 
when, fatigued and almost covered with 
mud, I dismounted at the door of a neat 
white cottage, situated on the brow of 
the hill, a little way from the business 

part of the village of . In answer 

to a call for missionary labor, from an 
inmate of this dwelling, I had engaged 
to preach in that village on the next 
day, and had traveled many a weary 
mile out of the usual route, because a 
sudden freshet had swept away bridges, 
and made it difficult to pass the swollen 
streams which crossed the road. This 
occasioned the lateness of the hour, 
and made a cheerful fire and quiet rest 
more grateful than usual. The next 
day, notwithstanding the badness of the 
roads, a considerable number assembled 
at the school-house, (there was no 
meeting-house in the village) and made 



THE RECLAIMED. 17 

ap an interesting- and attentive audi- 
ence. 

There was one aged man whose ap- 
pearance could hardly fail to attract 
notice. His gray locks, and squallid 
countenance bespoke an aged votary 
to intemperance. On returning from 
meeting, the inquiry was, " What has 
started old Mr. S. out to meeting ? " By 
inquiring, I found that he had long neg- 
lected the means of grace, and profess- 
ed to disbelieve the Bible. He had 
long been intemperate, profane and un- 
happy in his family. His wife, who had 
also neglected meetings for years, ei- 
ther to gratify him, or because of their 
poverty, or for want of interest, had 
several times been on the point of leav- 
ing him, because of his treatment. 
Their children had grown up, and for 
the most part lived away from them. 
Recently there had been some excite- 
ment on the subject of religion in the 
village, and the wife had become inter- 
ested in meetings and in a Savior, and 
had prevailed on her husband to attend 



18 THE RECLAIMED. 

meeting that Sabbath. A lecture was 
appointed for the evening at the house 
of my friend, and the old man was there 
with his wife, and listened witVi fixed 
attention, and an earnestness which in- 
dicated feeling. Such was the appear- 
ance of the audience, that I could not 
dismiss the meeting without inviting 
such as wished for personal conversa- 
tion on the subject of religion to remain 
for that purpose. Several remained, 
and this man and his wife among the 
rest. Some were professors of religion 
of different denominations, some had 
recently felt the joys of forgiveness, and 
others were more or less anxious. One 
remained to cavil and to embarrass the 
minds of Christians, or win them to his 
faith. He had been a member of a 
church but had forsaken her commun- 
ion, and was now about to commence 
preaching Universal Salvation. With- 
out noticing his conversation with pro- 
fessors of religion, who knew his life 
too well to be influenced by his argu- 
ments, I sought opportunity to converse 



THE RECLAIMED. 19 

with those who remained for a different 
purpose, and especially with this aged 
man. His wife manifested the tender- 
ness of one lately born of the Spirit, 
and an earnest desire for the conver- 
sion of her husband. After conversing 
with several others, I approached him 
as he sat alone upon the temporary seat 
fitted up for the evening. Taking a 
seat by his side, I asked him if he had 
satisfactory evidence of being a Chris- 
tian. He said he had not. " You be- 
lieve in religion, I suppose, and in its 
importance." 

" I did not, till within a few days ; at 
least, I tried to believe that religion 
was all a delusion. But I don't think 
so now. I believe my wife has become 
a Christian, and if this is religion, I 
know it is a good thing." 

" Well, why should you not try its 
realities for yourself? Do you find 
yourself happy enough and good enough 
without it ?" 

" O no, I am far enough from being 
happy, and have been for a great many 



20 THE RECLAIMED. 

years. But I never expect to be hap- 
py : I am an old man, and my time for 
happiness has gone by." 

u But the religion of Christ has made 
older people than you are exceedingly 
happy, and why not you, as well as 
others ?" 

" If I had attended to it while young, 
I might have found peace ; but now it 
is too late : I have grieved the Holy 
Spirit, and now I cannot expect for- 
giveness." 

"But are you sure the Holy Spirit 
has left you for ever? What then 
makes you feel as you now do ? Is not 
this kind Messenger now striving with 
you ?" 

"Why, I don't know, as to that; 
but I never expect to be a Christian : 
there are too many things in the, way." 

" Is there any thing which the grace 
of God cannot enable you to overcome? 
Have you any sin which God cannot 
forgive ? Any from which the blood of 
Christ cannot cleanse you ?" 

" I must tell you that I have been a 



THE RECLAIMED. 21 

man that drinked a great deal, and 
that has made me quarrelsome and un- 
kind to my family and neighbors. And 
then I used to swear, and take God's 
name in vain. I have scoffed at reli- 
gion, ridiculed Christians, and denied 
the Bible." 

C( Well, that is a bad way to live, it is 
true ; and no wonder you have found 
that 'the way of transgressors is hard.' 
But we are assured that " Whoso con- 
fesseth and forsaketh his sins, shall 
have mercy.' And can you not go and 
confess your sins to God as well as to 
me ? And can you not forsake them 
too ?" 

" 1 don't know ; I have broken so 
many resolutions, I am afraid to trust 
them. I can do nothing myself; I am 
a poor, helpless, miserable creature." 

" Well, then, why not go at once, 
and ask God to help you. If you were 
drowning in that river, and could not 
help yourself, and you knew that you 
must die without help, you would cry 
for help at once, and in earnest. If even 
3 



22 THE RECLAIMED. 

your worst enemy stood on the shore, 
you would beg of him to help you. 
But how much more willing is God to 
help you than your neighbor is. He 
is more willing to give his Holy Spirit 
to those who ask him, than earthly 
parents are to give good things to their 
children. Now, bad as you say you 
have been, when your children were 
dependent upon you, and came to you 
to ask for bread, would you refuse 
them ?" 

" No, I could not do that." 

" Well, do you think they were more 
needy than you are ? or that you were 
more ready to help them than God is to 
help you ?" 

" But then I am ashamed to ask him ; 
I have no heart to pray ; and I am 
afraid to try : I am afraid I should only 
mock God." 

" But, if you are willing to confess 
and forsake your sins, and really desire 
forgiveness, and go to God with the 
language of the publican, — ' God be 
merciful to me a sinner,' do you think 



i 



THE RECLAIMED. 23 

God will be angry with you for it, and 
reproach you for mockery ? If you will 
not forsake sin, and do not desire for- 
giveness, it would be mockery to pray 
for it. But do you not feel the need of 
forgiveness ? Does not your past life 
seem odious ; and do you not desire to 
live differently ?" 

" I should, if I thought it would be 
of any use." 

" You may rest assured it will be of 
use, to cast yourself on the mercy of 
God. Did you ever know a man who 
went to Christ for help, and was sent 
away unblessed ? At any rate, it is safe 
to make the trial, and it is not safe to 
delay it. You have tried neglecting reli* 
gion a long time ; and will you not now 
try seeking it by forsaking every sin, 
and asking forgiveness for the past, and 
assistance for the future ?" 

M I feel as if I must do something : I 
cannot live so. But I don't know how 
it will turn with me. I hope Christians 
will pray for me, if they can. My wife 
prays for me : that's one comfort." 



24 THE RECLAIMED. 

The disclosures of his mind this eve- 
ning 1 could not fail to enlist a deeper 
interest in the little circle of Christians, 
and call forth more direct and fervent 
prayers in his behalf. 

On the following evening 1 , he was 
again present at a lecture in the same 
place, and the tears were seen rolling 
down his cheeks during the sermon. 
The audience dispersed silently, and a 
professor of religion, fearing what 
might be the effect of the preaching of 
another denomination, and knowing 
that the old gentleman had something 
on his mind, endeavored to persuade 
him that the sermon was too personal. 
In illustrating the various ways in 
which the Holy Spirit may be grieved, 
the substance of the following remarks 
had been made : 

" Another way in which the Holy 
Spirit may be grieved, is by the use of 
intoxicating liquors. When the mind 
is pressed with a sense of guilt, and 
the force of truth, and the operation of 
the Spirit of God, there is a strange 



THE RECLAIMED. 25 

propensity to remove this pressure in 
the wrong way ; and no way is perhaps 
more sure or deadly than this. Let a 
man, in this anxious state of mind, re- 
sort to his bottle, and indulge but mod- 
erately, and he is almost certain to de- 
stroy his seriousness, or he is in danger 
of mistaking his true character, and 
cherishing a spurious hope, which will 
disgrace religion, and perish, as the 
hope of the hypocrite, when God takes 
away the soul. Let every man who 
desires salvation, then, avoid the intox- 
icating cup, as he would the enemy of 
his soul. If there be a propensity to 
this habit, the danger is great, and let 
every one who feels at all inclined to the 
daily use of this poison, fix it in his 
mind, as a settled point, that he must 
totally abandon the use of ardent spirit, 
or the Holy Spirit will abandon him." 

Such preaching the cautious profes- 
sor thought altogether too personal, and 
expressed this opinion to the anxious 
man. But he thought differently. His 
reply was, " Not at all — not a whit too 
3* 



26 . THE RECLAIMED. 

close. All he said about drinking" rum, 
I took to myself, and I hope it will do 
me good. It's all true, every word of 
it : I know by experience. I was glad 
to hear him preach so plain. I like the 
truth, if it does cut : I need it. It's no 
use to mince the matter, and cover up 
things : such preaching will never do 
any good : it only serves to make hyp- 
ocrites." 

The day following, he declared it his 
solemn determination never to drink 
ardent spirits again. In the course of 
the day, his resolution was put to a 
test. Liquor was used by those at 
work with him, and with whom he used 
to drink ; but he refused to taste it. 
They ridiculed and insulted him, and 
tried to quarrel with him, but all to no 
purpose. His reply was, " I shall nei- 
ther drink, nor swear, nor quarrel with 
you. And you had better leave it off: 
it does you no good, nor your families. 
I think we have, all of us, done enough 
atit." 

On Wednesday evening, having re- 



THE RECLAIMED. 27 

turned from a neighboring town, I 
preached again in a private house. By 
this time, the old gentleman had resolv- 
ed and publicly declared his resolution 
never to swear any more. A deep and 
solemn interest was manifest in his 
countenance, but still he thought he 
could never be a Christian. 

The next day was the annual 
" Thanksgiving." This man having 
procured a new hat, and otherwise im- 
proved his appearance, was at meeting, 
and an attentive hearer ; but no com- 
fort was in his soul. 

On Saturday evening, having return- 
ed from another excursion, another lec- 
ture was preached, and it was affecting 
to see his aged form bowed down, and 
the tears streaming from his eyes ; and 
yet to find him unconvinced that there 
could be mercy for such an one. But 
he seemed less positive that his case 
was hopeless than before ; and it was 
difficult for those who knew his state of 
feeling, to resist the conviction that a 
good work had commenced, which 



28 THE RECLAIMED. 

would be carried forward to the day of 
Jesus Christ. 

The next day, I had occasion to 
preach in an adjoining town. This 
man walked all the distance, and the 
most intense anxiety was manifest all 
day in his countenance. As the audi- 
ence dispersed, he came and took me 
by the hand, and burst into a flood of 
tears. Sobs almost choked his utter- 
ance, as the agonizing inquiry, M What 
shall I do ?" trembled on his tongue. 
It was a scene to soften the hardest 
heart. He seemed overwhelmed with 
a sense of sin, and felt as if there was 
no escape. I still endeavored to con- 
vince him that there was, and pointed 
him again to the Lamb of God which 
taketh away the sin of the world, and 
urged him, as I had repeatedly done 
before, to believe on him to the saving 
of the soul. 

It was painful to part with him ; but 
it was not without strong hope that he 
would soon know the joys of salvation. 
It was the last time I saw him, as I left 



THE RECLAIMED. 



29 



the region immediately ; but it was not 
long after that I received intelligence 
that he was a happy man. Several 
months afterwards, I received a letter 
from the family in the little whke cot- 
tage, communicating the following 
facts : 

# # # # "Mr. and Mrs. S. in- 
quire after you, and wish an affection- 
ate remembrance. They, with several 
others with whom you became ac- 
quainted, have united with the little 

church in :, and we trust the time 

is not far distant when a church will 
be formed in this village. Soon after 
you left, Mr. S. came out decidedly on 
the Lord's side, commenced family 
prayer, joined the temperance society, 
and now that is a happy family, and he 
is esteemed a worthy and devoted 
member of the church of Christ. The 
change in him is so great, that the 
most skeptical know not what to say of 
it. It is truly the Lord's doings, and it 
is marvelous in our eyes. Yours affec- 
tionately, — — ♦■'" 



30 THE WOUNDED. 

It is only necessary to add, here, — 
" Let him that thinketh he standeth, 
take heed lest he fall." There is rum 
still sold in that village, and there are 
old associates who drink it. Should 
this man indulge once in the intoxicat- 
ing glass, he will, in all probability, 
cease to be among the reclaimed, and 
stand on the catalogue of the ruined. 



THE WOUNDED. 

" He means me." 

It was yet dark for a starlight morn- 
ing, when the shrill notes of the stage- 
driver's horn, under my window, broke 
the spell of a delightful dream, and 
roused me to a scene of momentary 
horror. Bright fires were gleaming in 
every part of the village, overlooked by 
my window, and the fire bells had just 
commenced a fearful clamor. The first 
supposition was that the work of the 



THE WOUNDED. 31 

incendiary had been completed, and 
that the village was all on fire, and in 
every part of oar three story building-, 
might be heard the bustle of fellow stu- 
dents, preparing in haste to meet the 
sad crisis. But as soon as we were suf- 
ficiently awake to remember that it was 
the "fourth of Jnly" our alarm gave 
place to vexation, that we should be 
thus frightened and disturbed by the 
frolic of boys, (many of them indeed 
grown up) who were so full of inde- 
pendence, that they must give vent to 
it before daylight, by kindling bonfires, 
and ringing fire bells, and thus playing 
a game which must give a momentary 
fright, even to those who best under- 
stood it. 

The stage-man's horn blew another 
blast, and I was soon with him, on 
my way to a quiet village, more than 
twenty miles distant, to unite in cele- 
brating Independence — not with guns 
and squibs and revelry — but in a quiet 
temperance meeting. Daylight soon 
dawned, as the noise of the village we 



32 THE WOUNDED. 

had left, died away in the distance, and 
a most splendid sunrise painted a beau- 
tiful landscape on either hand, where 
the forest had given place to cultivated 
farms. The dew was yet glittering in 
every direction, and the haymakers on 
several farms were just commencing 
their labors for the first day of haying, 
when we stopped at the public house 
near the place where the temperance 
society was to hold its anniversary. 
Busy thoughts would of course come in 
as to the results of the day. Would 
these farmers leave their haymaking, 
after dinner, to attend a temperance 
address ? If so, how would they re- 
ceive it from a pale-faced student ? 
Who, among these, is on the side of 
temperance ? And who will this day 
take a stand ? How will the owners of 
these stores and this public house treat 
the subject ? I had learned but few 
facts from the secretary of the society, 
in the short interview which led to my 
engagement to give the address at their 
firstannual meeting; but I was a stranger 
to the citizens. The interval, till noon, 



THE WOUNDED. 33 

was spent in forming some acquaintance 
with the state of affairs, and arranging 1 
topics for the address. It was a small 
village ; but, being situated where two 
roads crossed at right angles, it was a 
convenient centre of business for three 
or four towns ; and it was ascertained 
that more than twenty hogsheads of 
rum had been sold in a year at the 
stores, although the country was new, 
and the population scattering. A small 
temperance society had been formed, 
but had excited no great interest among 
the more wealthy and influential fami- 
lies. Still the current of feeling was 
turning in favor of temperance habits, 
and the sale of spirit, at the stores, had 
essentially diminished. The gentle- 
manly deportment of the citizens, and 
readiness to answer inquiries, and to 
converse on the subject, inspired the 
hope of a favorable issue to our meet- 
ing ; and yet, as the hour approached, 
there was a kind of shrinking at the 
heart, altogether unusual, and which I 
knew not well how to grapple with, 
4 



34 THE WOUNDED. 

The dinner hour was past, and the 
people were flocking to the barn (there 
was no meeting-house, and the school- 
house would not hold the audience), 
when, who should drive up but " Father 
S , the Missionary," in his old wag- 
on. Nothing could afford greater relief 
at this moment, for he was a thorough 
temperance man, and his venerable ap- 
pearance, his white locks, and his firm 
nerves at the age of seventy-two, would 
preach temperance successfully ; and 
besides his tongue was the pen of a 
ready writer, and never talked non- 
sense. Soon we were all assembled, 
and Father S. went up the ladder with 
me, and sat upon the staging by my 
side, prepared to follow up the address 
with appropriate remarks. It was an 
interesting assembly. The large barn 
floor, and "tie up," had been fitted 
with temporary seats, but these had all 
been filled, and blocks and boards had 
been conveyed to the scaffold, and these, 
the " side galleries," were now full. 
Curiosity had drawn together a mixed 



THE WOUNDED. 35 

assembly, and the poor and the rich, 
the shabby and the well dressed, were 
intermingled, and seated in listening at- 
titudes, for about half an hour during 
the address, when an incident occurred 
which unsettled the gravity of the au- 
dience. Several views of intemper- 
ance had been listened to with fixed at- 
tention, when "the pleasures of drink- 
ing" came up in the following language: 
u We often hear of the pleasures of 
drinking, and many pursue it as if it 
were the chief good. You hear men 
talk of the social glass, the smiling bot- 
tle, of drinking to drive away dull 
care. You even hear them tell of being 
most gloriously drunk, and on this an- 
niversary, men often show their esti- 
mation of liberty and independence by 
drinking to excess. But what and 
where is the pleasure of drinking ? Is 
it in the fitful and transient excitement 
of the first half glass? But this only 
creates a thirst for more, and makes 
the votary restless and uneasy till he 
drinks again. Is it in that strange ex- 



36 THE WOUNDED. 

citement that makes a man silly, and 
causes his tongue to prate loud non- 
sense, and his eye t& wander in the 
style of an idiot ? Is it when he stag- 
gers in the streets, or steals away to 
conceal himseJf in hay-lofts, or behind 
sheds or stone- walls to escape the no- 
tice of men and the tricks of boys ? Is 
it when he can do neither of these, but 
yielding to the laws of gravity, wallows 
in dust and filth, as he foams at the 
mouth, gnashes his teeth, curses his 
God, and his wife and children ? Or is 
it when awaking from his last night's 
debauch, when his quivering hand and 
parched lip, and blood-shot eye, and 
raging thirst tell the story of his shame? 
Is it when conscience rouses up to as- 
sert her insulted and abused suprema- 
cy, and accuses him of squandering his 
property, destroying his character, beg- 
garing his children, clothing them with 
rags, depriving them of the key of 
knowledge, covering them with shame 
and fear, and sending them crying and 
supperless to bed ? Is it in seeing the 



THE WOUNDED. 37 

tears of wo and anguish trickle down 
the furrowed cheeks of his wife, cheeks 
not furrowed with age ? Is it in break- 
ing her heart — not with a sudden, 
crushing blow, but snapping it fibre af- 
ter fibre, although he swore to cherish 
her till death ? Is it in murdering his 
own soul, and rushing — " 

Just at this point a large, fat, red- 
faced man sprung up in the midst of the 
assembly, and shrieked out in an un- 
earthly tone, " He means me — he means 
me — He's spittin out all his spite at me — - 
let me get out — let me get out — / won't stay 
here to be insulted at this rate," and away 
he staggered, almost tumbling prostrate 
over the seats and over those who occu- 
pied them. He left the barn apparently 
in great rage, and went off to the stores, 
cursing and swearing in unmeasured 
terms. The effect upon the audience 
was tremenduous. At first, a sudden 
burst of laughter rung through the as- 
sembly ; but in a moment all was still, 
and the attention to the close of the 
address more fixed and serious. Then 
4* 



38 THE WOUNDED. 

Father S. rose, and cast his eye leis- 
urely upon the audience, and began as 
follows : 

M I have been a young man, and now 
am old. I have seen more than three 
score and ten years, and have been ex- 
posed to the heat of summer and cold 
of winter, and to all the vicissitudes of 
life. My hand does not tremble." He 
then stretched out his right hand, and 
exhibited a firmness of nerve which 
few young men could command under 
such circumstances. He then went on 
to say, that his eye was not dim, nor 
his natural strength abated, as was com- 
mon with men of his years, and that, 
under God — for he assured us that every 
blessing was the gift of God — that un- 
der God, he owed his good health and 
ability to labor in the ministry, to the 
habits of temperance which he adopted 
when a young man. He had seen the 
bad effects of spirituous liquors in the 
army, in the time of the revolutionary 
war, and formed the resolution to aban- 
don its use, and with the help of God 



THE WOUNDED. 39 

he had been able to abide by his reso- 
lution. He gave a fatherly exhorta- 
tion to the old and the young to enlist 
in the cause of temperance, and to sign 
the pledge then— it was a declaration 
of independence of greater moment 
than that signed by our forefathers more 
than half a century ago. After he sat 
down, the presiding officer of the soci- 
ety requested those who were not mem- 
bers to become such, and it was a de- 
lightful sight to see the fathers of the 
town with their wives and children, 
come forward and sign the temperance 
pledge. One of the friends of the cause 
remarked, "Well, you have nailed the 
colors of the temperance society to the 
mast, and old Mr. , when he stag- 
gered out, hit the nail on the head, and 
father S. has clenched it." 

Before another celebration of Inde- 
pendence the large public house was 
purged of its destructive elements, and 
the inebriate could find no place to 
quench his thirst for rum, in all the 
neighborhood. 



40 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS* 

Since that period, a blessed revival 
of religion has been enjoyed in that 
village, and now a new and beautiful 
meeting-house points its spire to heav- 
en, and a letter lying before me, con- 
tains an invitation to attend its dedica- 
tion, and the installation of a gospel 
minister. 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 

In the winter of 183 — , while giving 
lectures in a quiet village, an urgent 
request was made by a recently mar- 
ried niece of the clergyman, for a tem- 
perance lecture in the plantation* where 
she had now taken up her abode. 
Her husband although doubtful of the 
result of such an affair, rather seconded 
the request, and proposed that the 
meeting should be at his father's house, 

* A plantation is a township, in its early set- 
tlement, before being incorporated as a town. 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 41 

the only convenient one for such pur- 
poses in the neighborhood. No ad- 
dress had ever been given there, and 
temperance papers had not yet found 
their way to the families. All that was 
known of temperance societies, save by 
a very few individuals, was the vague 
rumors which ignorance, opposition, 
and jealousy were wont to circulate in 
the early history of the reformation. 
The day at length arrived ; but a snow 
had fallen, and became encrusted so as 
to make a twelve mile walk rather for- 
midable. A disappointment, however, 
provided any should assemble, could not 
be throught of, and the journey was 
performed just in time to call upon one 
of the family beside the one above nam- 
ed. That was the family of Elder — — , 
who had formerly officiated as the minis- 
ter of a little church in the plantation, 
but was then in feeble health, and laid 
aside from his labors, by a disease that 
in a few months carried him to the 
grave. He could therefore, with pro- 
priety excuse himself from attending 



42 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS* 

the meeting, and it was easy to discov- 
er that he was fearful about the result 
of it. The old gentleman whose son 
had offered the house for the lecture 
Was absent ; but the family .gave a wel- 
come reception to the unexpected lec- 
turer. They had supposed the travel- 
ing too bad for the people, scattered 
as they were, to assemble, and did not 
imagine that any one would walk twelve 
miles at such a time to address them. 
But before the supper table was remov- 
ed, persons began to come in and clus- 
ter round the fire, casting significant 
looks at the stranger and at each other, 
and whispering among themselves 
amusing things about temperance socie- 
ties. More than twenty young persons 
assembled, but all were confident that 
they should not be caught in the "tem- 
perance trap." They supposed that 
temperance lecturers had " twenty-five 
cents a head" for all the signatures they 
obtained, and were quite sure that he 
had come to the wrong place to specu- 
late in this line. However they were 
disposed to hear what might be said. 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 43 

and the result was quite different from 
what was anticipated. The temperance 
pledge, when read and explained, did 
not seem quite so bad as was supposed, 
and when it was submitted to them, 
the question went round, — 

" You going to sign it ? " 

" What say?" 

u I'll sign it if you will." 

u Well, it's a bargain." 

The ice was broken ; one after an- 
other followed the example, till every 
name was fixed to the pledge. Then 
the story was, " how I wish father 
was here," and " how I wish Mr. A., 
and Uncle B., and cousin C, and Wm. 
D. could hear a lecture." 

" Can't you come again ? " 

" Why won't you, now ? " 

" If you'll come over week after next, 
we'll have a house full then, all the 
folks'll come in. They didn't think 
you'd be here to-night." 

Another appointment was made, and 
the time soon arrived. The day was 
pleasant. Mounting a spirited horse, 



44 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 

after dinner, I was at the settlement 
some time before evening, and called 

again upon Elder , to inquire for his 

health, and converse further upon the 
objects of my visit. But here a new scene 
opened. Two aged men were present, 
one of them in close and earnest con- 
versation with Elder , and on my 

entering by direction of Mrs. , all 

seemed taken by surprise. After being 
introduced to " brother J." and " brother 
K.," I was soon acquainted with the fact 
that the object of the meeting was to 
devise ways and means to put a stop to 
the encroachments of temperance soci- 
eties, upon the rights and liberties of 
the people. The principal mover in 
this transaction, was an aged man, of 
short stature, glossy red face, and his 
few remaining locks "blossomed for 
the grave." It was affecting to 
see a leader in the church, laboring 
with his sick minister to procure his 
sanction to the opposition he was wag- 
ing against the embryo temperance re- 
form, of the little settlements. But he 



i 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 45 

was too much excited, and his breath 
gave too strong evidence of the secret of 
his opposition to temperance societies, 
to carry his minister or his other broth- 
er in the church, fully into his meas- 
ures, or to reason the case deliberately. 
He was for " presarving the liberties 
of the country." " Temperance socie- 
ties were bringing the country into 
lordships, and it was time to be up and 
doing." He was willing " to defend the 
liberties of his country at the point of 
the bagonet." He had a "rusty fire- 
lock that did good execution in the rev- 
olution, and he was ready to shoulder 
it at a moment's warning, and would 
fight till he died before he would sub- 
mit to such tyranny." Such were the 
spirit and language of this professed dis- 
ciple of the Prince of Peace. The 
most frightful stories of temperance so- 
cieties were then detailed by him, as if 
he believed them to be living realities. 
It was difficult to reason with him ; but 
a cool description of the temperance 
principles and measures, and a careful 
5 



46 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 

examination of the pledge, convinced 
his associates that there was nothing 
very dangerous in abandoning* the use 
of poison as a drink, or in signing a 
paper to that effect. His associate 
brother in the church, became interest- 
ed to hear more, and invited me to his 
house. It was the house where the 
former lecture was given ; but this man 
was absent, and being unacquainted 
with the character of temperance soci- 
eties, he had been drawn into his pres- 
ent position by the representations of 
the zealous " defender of liberty." Be- 
fore the time for the evening address, 
I was able to learn the history of the 
opposition. When the young people 
returned from the previous lecture, and 
reported themselves as members of a 
temperance society, there was a great 
stir among the people. They were ta- 
ken by surprise, that those turning the 
world upside down should come hither, 
and find converts to the temperance 
cause. But among all the excited ones 
there was no one to go forward to 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 47 

stop the progress of the cause with so 
much zeal as old Mr. K. He had some 
able assistants, but his long standing in 
the church gave him a kind of authori- 
ty and boldness, which distinguished 
him as the leader. The interval had 
been a busy one, and the plans were all 
laid. Several persons were engaged to 
address the meeting in reply to me, if 
there was liberty, and if not, to take lib- 
erty. To effect the thing more success- 
fully, it was proposed to have the lec- 
ture in an old shell of a building which 
had been occupied as a school-house. 
There, as no one would be under the 
obligation Li to rule his own house," it 
was thought the whole affair could be 
disposed of successfully. One who was 
reported as a speaker for the evening, 
was a " Squire" , who kept a groce- 
ry or groggery in the corner of a neigh- 
boring town. Another part of the plan 
was, to have the names given at the 
former meeting withdrawn from the 
pledge, and thus bring matters back to 
their former course. Such representa- 



48 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 

tions had been made to them, in the 
mean time, that most of them had 
engaged to withdraw their names. Such 
a state of feeling was rather discour- 
aging for the evening's exercise. The 
hour soon arrived, and brought with it 
all the settlers within a considerable 
distance who could leave their homes. 
There was a promiscuous company 
crowded into two unfinished rooms of 
the dwelling-house, which the owner 
had opened with much cheerfulness, 
the efforts of Mr. K. notwithstanding. 
For a time, appearances were rather 
ominous of confusion and personal in- 
sult ; but when the time for commenc- 
ing the address arrived, a few words of 
conciliatory introduction produced the 
desired effect of quieting all apprehen- 
sion, and inducing the audience to lis- 
ten attentively to what was urged in 
behalf of temperance for an hour and 
a quarter. They were assured, in the 
outset, that a fair chance of being 
heard in reply to the address, should be 
given them, and a general invitation 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 49 

extended to express their views freely. 
As many of those opposed to the pledge 
professed to be " friends of temperance ," 
but did not like this " being bound ," it 
was necessary to meet this view some- 
what fully. The popular feeling seem- 
ed to be much engrossed with the idea 
of an infringement of their rights and 
liberties, and after spreading out the 
evils of intemperance, this idea was 
dwelt upon in the following language. 

"But you all perhaps agree that intem- 
perance is a tremendous evil, scattering 
disease, and poverty, and crime, and, wo, 
and death, all over our country, still you 
do not all agree as to the remedy. You 
know that if every man, woman and. 
child would abandon the use of spirits, 
the evils of intemperance would cease ; 
still you may not like the plan of signing 
a pledge of total abstinence. But what 
objection ? You " don't like to be 
bound." But why not act on the same 
principle in other matters ? You owe a 
man five dollars ; you acknowledge the 
debt, and you intend to pay it honestly. 
5* 



50 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 

But your creditor expects your note. 
4 Oh no, I don't like this being bound. 
I like honesty as well as any man. I de- 
spise the man that won't pay his debts ; 
but this is a free country, and I've no 
idea of being brought into bondage by 
signing that paper.' 

"Will such an argument sound well in 
your common business transactions ? 

"But it is a perversion of language to 
talk of signing the pledge as " being 
brought into bondage." Just the re- 
verse of this is the truth. A temperance 
pledge is, to all intents and purpose, a 
"Declaration of Independence." It is 
but saying, in other words, that we have 
been long enough in bondage, and assert- 
ing our freedom. We have submitted 
to the bondage of fashion and appetite, 
and paid our portion of the monstrous 
tax, which has been imposed on society 
by the use of distilled liquor long 
enough. Who does not know that in- 
temperance has imposed a heavier tax 
on this nation, than all the fleets and 
armies of Europe could have imposed 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 51 

upon us, even in the days of our infancy. 
The taxes which the British levied upon 
our forefathers, and the injuries which 
caused the declaration of independence 
to be put forth and maintained, were 
nothing in comparison with the tax we 
have paid, year after year, for the u raw 
material," which has converted our coun- 
try into beggars, liars, gamblers, sots, 
robbers and murderers, filled the land 
with widows and orphans, and wailings 
of despair ; filled our poor-houses, our 
prisons and our grave-yards, and trained 
up candidates for the gallows. And yet 
we honor our fathers for signing that 
instrument, and for resisting the oppres- 
sions they felt. Why not, instead of 
revering them as the authors of our 
freedom, turn round and ridicule them 
for "coming into bondage," by signing that 
pledge. Suppose, when the Declaration 
of Independence was written oat, and 
submitted to that band of heroes whose 
names are upon it, they had reasoned 
in this way. Suppose John Hancock 
had stood up in that meeting, and said, 



52 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 

c Gentlemen, I am no friend to British 
taxation; I abhor oppression and tyran- 
ny as much as any man. I am deter- 
mined to be free, and use all my influence 
to free our country; but I don't mean to 
sign that Declaration. I can avoid pay- 
ing- taxes to the king without it as well 
as with, and I don't like being bound. 
I don't see any use in signing my name 
to it ; and it looks to me as if there was 
some mischief concealed under it. It 
smells of priestcraft, and it looks to me 
as if it was a design to unite church 
and state, and it's altogether a sectarian 
thing.' Now what would you say of 
John Hancock, if he had talked in this 
way ? What would posterity say of him? 
Instead of enrolling his name on the 
records of fame, you would write it on 
the black list close to that of Benedict 
Arnold. And what if all who signed 
that Declaration had talked and acted 
in such a manner? Where would have 
been the rallying point? Where would 
have been our liberty and our indepen- 
dence ? But they were not the men to 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 53 

shrink and abandon the cause of free- 
dom at such a crisis. They wrote out 
their names in defence of principles 
which were dearer to them than life, and 
thus pledged their lives, and fortunes, 
and their sacred honor, for the safety and 
happiness of the country. And for this 
we almost worship them. And now 
that oppressions more grievous have 
settled down upon us, and threaten us 
with ruin, and the voice of suffering 
humanity calls upon us for relief, shall 
v/e refuse to act ? When this new dec- 
laration of independence is spread out 
before us, shall we start back and re- 
fuse to sign it ? How then will poster- 
ity look back upon our course ? When 
the tide of intemperance has been rolled 
back, and its foul stains have been 
washed away, and its fiery channels 
have been quenched in pure water, and 
its tremenduous curses live only in sto- 
ry, with what interest will our children's 
children examine the records of the tem- 
perance societies which have wrought 
this mighty deliverance. How eagerly 



54 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 

will they look for the names of their an- 
cestors. 'There,' says one, ' is the name 
of my great grandfather,' ' and there,' 
says another, c was my grandfather. 
He was a little boy then, and could 
hardly write his name, but he had the 
soul of a man, and he always lived up 
to the pledge.' But who can paint the 
feelings of mortification and disappoint- 
ment of that child who looks over the 
record in vain, for the name of his grand- 
father or any of his ancestors ? Who 
would subject his children's children to 
a mortification like this? Or worse, 
perhaps. Let us suppose that those 
now upon the stage of action, who re- 
fuse to cooperate with these societies, 
should be successful in throwing obsta- 
cles in the way. Suppose they drink 
just enough to make the use of liquor 
respectable, and thus transmit the in- 
temperance, which always follows in 
the train of moderate drinking, to 
future generations. Then, when open- 
ing their eyes upon the wide spread ru- 
in, our children's children will know 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 55 

that early in the ISth century, when 
the friends of humanity arose to quench 
the fires of intemperance, their ances- 
tors prevented them, and rekindled its 
dying embers to burn on fiercer, and 
blast the hopes of the world. Shall we 
ever be reproached with such treason 
to our country or injustice to our off- 
spring- ? The alternative is before you, 
and must be decided soon. What we 
do, in a cause like this, should be done 
deliberately, but must be done quickly. 
And, in conclusion, I have one request 
to make, and that is, that every man, 
woman and child, who is willing* to 
abandon the use of intoxicating* liquors 
as a drink, and to use a decided influ- 
ence in favor of temperance, to mani- 
fest it by rising up." 

This movement was so sudden and 
unexpected, that all were taken by sur- 
prise ; and all seemed astonished to find 
themselves and all around them stand- 
ing up, as it were, by a simultaneous 
rush, apparently on the side of temper- 
ance principles. Hardly an individual 



56 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 

was left upon the seats, and yet some 
had no idea of abandoning the use of 
liquor, and others were as much bent 
on opposing the society as before. Still 
this sudden movement of the whole 
body was exceedingly embarrassing to 
those who were about to make speech- 
es. It was with some difficulty that any 
one could muster resolution enough to 
speak. Old Mr. K., however, was soon 
sufficiently nerved up to let off his 
speech; but it was one which had been 
made up beforehand, and had been sub- 
stantially given out during the conver- 
sation in the afternoon ; and the few 
ideas it contained, had been so entirely 
anticipated, that he seemed himself 
more ashamed of what he had said, 
than any one else was moved by it. 

Next rose a young man who had sign- 
ed the paper at the previous meeting, 
and who had formerly been intempe- 
rate. He wished to have his name ta- 
ken from the paper. He liked the soci- 
ety, but wanted his name taken off be- 
cause the neighhors laughed at him, and 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 57 

told him he couldn't keep from getting 
drunk without signing the pledge. He 
wished to let them know he could be 
sober without joining a society. 

Then a man of middle age, on whom 
much dependence had been placed, 
stood up and leaned back against the 
partition (for he was too much under 
the influence of strong drink to stand 
easily without this support) and began 
to pour forth reproaches and ridicule 
upon Christianity, and Sabbath Schools, 
and Bible Societies, and denounced 
them as a speculating business to help 
the rich into power, and deprive the 
poor man of his rights. He seemed to for- 
get that the subject of temperance was 
the one in order, and after venting his 
bitterness in a manner to shame those 
who had urged him forward, he sat 
down. 

After him, another, with a very hon- 
est face, and with his whole soul agita- 
ted with some mighty forebodings, be- 
gan to speak. Drawing up very close, 
he began as follows : 
6 



58 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 

u Now, mister, I am no friend to rum, 
and I like what there is on that paper. 
I wish there wan't a drop of rum in 
■ America — I'd hold up both hands for it. 
But then don't you know this ere thing is 
bringing" the country all into lordships ? 
I like what you read on that constitu- 
tion ; but they don't put it all in there. 
They jest put that in to start with; and 
then spose we all sign that, and say we 
won't drink any more gin or rum or 
brandy. Well, then the next things we 
mustn't have no tobacker, and mustn't 
smoke, and then mustn't have no tea 
nor coffee. Then we must give up 
most all our vittles. Don't you know 

they've got a society now in B that 

they mustn't have only one kind of vit- 
tles ? and there's a committee to sarch 
the houses, and if they find more than 
one sort, the constable goes and takes 
it away. And you see its bringin the 
country all into lordships, so pretty soon 
we shall have a king ; and then when I 
kill an ox or a pig, I must give a quar- 
ter on't to the king ; and if I raise 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 59 

ten bushel of potatoes, I must give one 
bushel to the king, to support the lazy- 
priests. Why, don't you know they 
tried to git a king in Boston some time 
ago, and ' the working-men' wouldn't 
let 'em do so. Now what is our coun- 
try coming to ? " 

Such was the zeal and apparent sin- 
cerity of this man, that it was difficult 
to command sufficient gravity to reply 
to his imploring speech. But as he 
waited for an answer, I replied with as 
much composure as possible, assuring 

him that I had lived in B for some 

years, and that no such society as he 
described existed ; that somebody had 
deceived him, and that there was no 
prospect of a king through the agency 
of temperance societies. Men of tem- 
perate habits were better prepared to 
govern themselves than drunkards, and 
would be more likely to have that 
knowledge and virtue which are the 
strength of republican institutions. As 
to the pledge, when you sign that, you 
agree to do just what that requires, and 



60 THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 

nothing more. Just as, when you sign 
a note, to pay ten dollars and interest, 
you are obliged to do what the note 
says, and only that. 

" Well, now, that stands to reason. 

But Mr. said it was just as I told 

you, and that he read it in the newspa- 
per. Now I don't take papers, myself, 
for I can't read much ; but then I 
thought 'twas all true. Now I'm glad 
I found out, and I think I shall join that 
paper." 

No other one seemed disposed to speak, 
and, as the evening was far spent, it was 
time to try the final issue. It was with 
some anxiety that I then requested all 
who wished their names withdrawn from 

the pledge, to manifest it. Old Mr. K 

said, "I've one son whose name must 
be took off, for he's not of age ; and if 
his name isn't took off, Pll prosecute— 
prosecute" — but he could not finish the 
sentence, for he knew not who or what 
to prosecute. Another father ordered 
the names of his two children erased, 
as they were neither of them of age. 



THE TEMPERANCE MEETINGS. 61 

These, with the young man referred to 
above, reduced the society by four, and 
now was the time for volunteers. One 
after another came forward to sign the 
pledge, till the society numbered near 
fifty, and then the officers were chosen, 
and the temperance society established 
on a firm foundation, with the very 
man whom Mr. K — : — had drawn into 
the measure of opposition, as described 
above, unanimously elected as its pres- 
ident. 

But the opposition did not rest here. 
Not long afterwards, a young man who 
was studying law in a town not many 
miles distant, and another "Esquire" 
— — , who kept a grocery, favored them 
with a visit, and spent a Sabbath. One 
half of the day was occupied with lec- 
tures against temperance societies, and 
in forming what was familiarly called 
an anti-temperance society ; and the 
other half was spent in lecturing against 
the divine authority of the Sabbath, 
and in favor of Sabbath mails. But the 
principles of the temperance society 



62 THE TRUANT BOY. 

have steadily advanced, and are pre- 
paring the way for other good works. 



THE TRUANT BOY. 

The school-house where two of my 
winters were spent, in the routine of 
labors which the schoolmaster can 
better understand than describe, was 
situated on the sunny side of a beauti- 
ful forest, by which it was concealed 
from the little village that furnished 
most of my scholars. In that village 
was a smoky looking building, where 
the surplus rye of the surrounding 
country was converted into American 
gin ; and the slumbering conscience of 
the nation had not then fixed the seal 
of reprobation upon it. The business 



THE TRUANT BOY. 63 

of distilling was then reputable. Many 
of the inhabitants of the village were 
interested in it : some worked the dis- 
tillery ; others made the casks ; others, 
again, carried the gin to market, and 
procured the raw materials ; and others 
£old " groceries" to the laborers. The 
tillage school had acquired a reputation 
rather undesirable, as teachers had oc- 
casionally been dismissed, because they 
differed from the scholars or parents on 
the propriety of discipline, or the mode 
of its administration in the school. An 
affair of this nature, the winter previous, 
created more anxiety for the result of 
the first efforts. Some apparently formi- 
dable cases of discipline, however, were 
soon disposed of in a way to give perma- 
nency to measures adopted in the school, 
and to promise a pleasant winter. But 
there were some cases of a trying char- 
acter. One little fellow, six or seven 
years of age, I can never forget. His 
complexion was pale, his expression 
downcast and sorrowful, and it was ap- 
parently impossible to awaken any de- 



64 THE TRUANT BOY. 

sire to learn, or to be respected by his 
fellows. He was not wanting in intel- 
lect, but in application. He was at 
school nearly every day, but always 
late ; for he played truant. It was 
some time before he was fairly detected 
in this, for he always had a plausible 
excuse for being late. Poor boy, his 
difficulty in part could be understood : 
he had an intemperate mother. His father, 
who was almost incessantly engaged in 
the distillery, and heavy hearted, in 
view of his domestic calamity, could 
know but little of the obliquity of his 
favorite boy, and could bear still less to 
correct his wanderings. Indeed, he 
could not believe his son seriously 
wrong, for he was a goodnatured, affec- 
tionate child, when indulged with the 
society of his father ; and, the winter 
previous, when the little fellow had 
been detected in stealing from the 
teacher's table, and was to receive pun- 
ishment on the following day, the mis- 
judging father sent a message forbid- 
ding the teacher to punish him. The 



THE TRUANT BOY. 65 

message was effectual in screening the 
lad, and, with other similar matters, 
successful in breaking up the school. 
Still these circumstances did not destroy 
the hope of inspiring the boy with spirit, 
and persuading him to look up in my 
face like other boys. But efforts were 
unsuccessful. He studied only by com- 
pulsion, was always the dullest scholar 
in his class, and was still late at school, 
and would look no one in the face. 
Perhaps the suspicions of the other 
scholars rested upon him, and led them 
to treat him with contempt or unkind- 
ness ; but I watched for evidence of it 
in vain, and labored in vain for the 
welfare of the child, till the occurrence 
which I shall now explain. 

It was a mild day in February ; the 
sun shone in dazzling brightness upon 
the snow, which was wasting under its 
influence. The hour for commencing 
the afternoon exercises had arrived, 
and, as I was returning in haste from 
the village, this little boy came round a 
corner of the wood, near the school- 



66 THE TRUANT EOY. 

house, and was going home. He. was 
whirling something attached to a string 
round his head, which, in certain posi- 
tions, glittered in the sunbeams. The 
moment he saw me, the string and its 
appendage were suddenly coiled, and 
concealed in his pocket, in a manner to 
excite suspicion. When we met, he 
sought to go by with his usual down- 
cast look ; but I spoke to him kindly, 
and the following conversation took 
place : 

" My little man, where are you 
going ? " 

" I'm going home, sir." 

" But it is^school time now, and you 
would not like to be absent from 
school." 

" Mother said I must come home at 



" But then you should have gone 
when school closed, and you might 
have returned by this time." 

" I want to go now." 

"Well, what was that you put in 
your pocket just now ? " 



THE TRUANT BOY. 67 

" Nothing." 

" O, you must not say so. When 
you turned the corner of the wood, you 
was whirling a string, with something 
shining at the end of it ; and then you 
saw me and put it in your pocket." 
" I hain't got nothing but a plummet." 
" Well, I want you to let me see it." 
He then reluctantly pulled out a 
bright new plummet with its string, 
which I recognised as the one brought 
to school that morning by one of the 
oldest girls. 

" Where did you find this ?" 
" I found it down there by the door." 
" But how shall I know that what 
you tell me is true ? You know I have 
often told you that when boys are once 
detected in falsehood, we shall not 
know when to believe them. Now you 
just told me that you had put nothing 
in your pocket, when you had put this 
plummet in. That was a falsehood. 
You was trying to deceive me. And 
how shall I know that you are not de- 
ceiving me now ? " 



68 THE TRUANT BOY. 

" I did find it there, sartin ! " 

" Well, now go back and show me 
just where it was, and I hope I shall 
find you have told me the truth." 

" I want to go home : mother said I 
must." 

" Well, go back to the school-house 
now : we must settle this matter first, 
and then I can tell better whether to 
believe your mother told you to come 
home or not. You have told what is 
not true once, and how can I know that 
your mother told you to come home ?" 

We were soon at the door of the 
school-house ; but it was with manifest 
faltering and misgiving that he pointed 
out the spot where he pretended that 
the plummet was found, and then he 
seemed to feel as if the falsehood was 
written upon his countenance. With- 
out questioning him farther, as soon as 
the school was assembled and seated, I 
held up the plummet to view, and it 
was at once recognized by the owner, 
in a distant part of the school-room. 
Keeping him by me, and in such a posi- 



THE TRUANT BOY. 69 

lion that he could not possibly see the 
owner, I requested her to place her 
hand in the very place where the plum- 
met was left. This was done, and im- 
mediately removed, and she resumed 
her seat. I then told him that I sup- 
posed he took the plummet from the 
school-house ; and, if so, I wished him 
to be honest, and go and place it where 
he had taken it. He went and placed 
it in precisely the right place, which, un- 
der these circumstances, confirmed the 
evidence of his guilt. His conscience 
now appeared to be troubled, although 
perhaps his fears were more so. He 
wept bitterly, and yet nothing had been 
said to terrify him. I then took him by 
the hand, and, in as kind a manner as 
possible, explained to him the nature of 
his faults, and noticed the several in- 
stances of his falsehood. Then another 
scene came up. 

"Now tell me," (I said to him in a 
mild manner) " what you did with my 
pocket comb." 

jg. " I never see it — I never took it, sar- 
tin." 7 



70 THE TRUANT BOY. 

Cl Well, perhaps not. But you know 
my comb was taken from the table here 
several weeks ago ; and, when I asked 
the scholars about it, and looked all 
round the room, to see how they should 
answer the question, you was the first 
and almost only one to say, "I hain't 
got it — I hain't got it." I did not think 
you stole it then, but you know I told 
all the scholars they must take care not 
to steal, because, if I should detect any 
one in stealing, I should be likely to 
think he took the comb. Now you 
have been caught in stealing a plummet, 
and you have told several falsehoods ; 
and how shall I know that you did not 
steal the comb. It is true that I do not 
know you took it ; but your denying it 
now that you have told several false- 
hoods, cannot be trusted, as if you had 
always told the truth. Now I wish you 
to think of it a little while, and see if 
you can tell me the whole truth. If 
you stole the comb, you had better say 
so honestly. You will feel happier after- 
wards, if you tell the truth. I do not 



THE TRUANT BOY. 71 

wish you to say you took it, unless you 
did actually do so, because that would 
be lying. I wish you to tell just the 
truth. It will be much better for you 
to do so than for me to find it out some 
other way. You may sit down here by 
yourself a little while, and then I will 
talk with you again." 

After attending to some necessary 
duties of the school, as the little boy 
had become composed, I took him by 
the hand, and asked him if he was now 
prepared to tell me the whole truth. 

" Yes, sir," was his reply. 

" Well, then, what did you do with 
my comb ? " 

"I lost it." 

"Then -you took it from the table, 
did you ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

The tears now began to flow in tor- 
rents, accompanied by sobs, as expres- 
sive of real sorrow as one can imagine. 

" Well, now, tell me where upon the 
table you found it." 

" I found it there," said he, pointing 



72 THE TRUANT BOY. 

to the very place where it had been 
left. 

" Was the comb open, like this knife 
blade, or was it shut up, when you 
found it ? " 

" I found it open." 

" Well, what did you do with it ? " 

u I put it in my pocket, and when we 
went out, I put it down by a little tree 
beyond the play-ground, and put some 
leaves over it." 

" Well, is it there now ? " 

" I can't find it : I went to get it after- 
wards, but I could not find it ; and I 
have not seen it since." 

" Will you go with one of the boys, 
and show him where you left it, and 
look for it again ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

He led the scholar designated for this 
purpose to a concealed spot beyond the 
play-ground, and pointed out a little 
tree, and said he put it down by the 
side of that ; and he began to search 
for it among the leaves. Both of them 
engaged in the search, till they had re- 



THE TRUANT BOY. 73 

moved most of the leaves within several 
feet of the tree, and then returned with- 
out finding it. A1J these circumstances 
confirmed the conviction that he had 
now confessed the truth, — that he had 
stolen the comb, and lost it in the way 
described. The evidence of his sorrow 
was as apparent as the evidence of his 
guilt. But was this sufficient ? Would 
this effect a cure, as well without cor- 
poreal punishment as with it ? Would 
it be safe for the interests of the school 
to spare the rod in such a case ? It was 
evident that every scholor felt a deep 
interest in the result of the case, and 
a deep sympathy for the little offender. 
But I dared not dismiss him without 
punishment, painful as it was to inflict 
it, and uncommon as it was in my 
practice. Taking him again by the 
hand, I said to him, " Well, sir, what 
do you think I ought to do now, to 
cure you of such faults ? You have 
been guilty of two very wicked things, 
stealing and lying ; and what is it my 

duty to do for you ? " 

7# 



74 THE TRUANT BOY. 

'" You ought to punish me." 

" Suppose I punish you with this 
heavy rule, how many times do you 
think I ousrht to strike you with it ? " 

" Forty."" 

" Perhaps you deserve so many blows, 
but I should be glad to cure you with- 
out so severe a punishment. If I should 
strike very hard, so many blows would 
be hard to bear. I will think of it 
awhile, and then decide what will be 
necessary." 

Another hour was spent in the duties 
of the school, while the little boy sat in 
the silent anguish of suspense, heaving 
a deep and long drawn sigh, occasion- 
ally, and giving vent to an occasional 
flood of tears. Then calling him to me 
again, I endeavored to impress upon his 
mind the nature of his offences, and the 
pain it gave me to punish him for them. 
I then felt how sad a thing it is for a 
a teacher not to be a Christian. I 
knew that the sanctions of religion 
ought to be brought to bear upon his 
mind, and upon the whole school, but 



THE TRUANT BOY. 75 

had no heart or courage to apply them. 
Concealing, however, as much as might 
be, the workings of conscience on this 
subject, and nerving for the conflict 
with my feelings, I told^him I would 
forgive him without farther punishment, 
if I dared to do it ; but I was afraid 
that it would not cure him ; and I was 
afraid other scholars would take cour- 
age and steal too. But I shall not pun- 
ish you so much as you think you de- 
serve. I must leave something for your 
father to do. You must go home, after 
school, and tell your father that you 
stole the teacher's comb and a plum- 
met, and told several lies about them, 
and got punished for this at school, and 
that the teacher says it is father's duty 
to punish you too. You have confessed 
the truth, I believe, in regard to the 
comb, and I shall not punish you so 
much as if I had found out the truth 
from some other person. I hope, too, 
you are sorry for it, and will not do such 
a thing again. I expect also that, here- 
after, you will not play truant again, 



76 THE TRUANT BOY. 

but will be at school in seagon in the 
morning, and be active in trying to 
learn. So I shall not punish you with 
the heavy rule, but with this light one: 
I hope this wih cure you. And I shall 
only give you ten blows instead of forty. 
I expect they will hurt you a good deal; 
but if they cure you of your faults, you 
will have reason to be glad that you 
were found out." 

The punishment was then inflicted, 
and borne with much fortitude, and 
seemed to produce nearly as much ef- 
fect upon the other scholars as upon 
himself. When his tears were wiped 
away, and he was composed, I again 
requested him to go home and tell his 
father what had happened, and that he 
ought also to punish him ; and that, if 
he would hereafter be a good boy, I 
should love and respect him, as if noth- 
ing of the kind had occurred, and that 
the other scholars would treat him 
kindly. The scholars were then re- 
quired to treat their little companion 
with kindness, and not to reproach him 



THE TRUANT BOY. 77 

with his faults or his punishment. Ke 
now thinks he shall be a good boy; 
and, if he is, all the scholars must treat 
him as such, and encourage him to con- 
tinue so. 

The next day was Saturday, and 
there was no school till Monday. It 
was intimated by some, that it would 
be more difficult to settle this affair with 
the father, than it had been with the 
son. Nothing, however, was heard 
from him till Sabbath evening. On re- 
turning from a meeting to the public 
house where I was boarding, several 
neigbors, with the father, were sitting 
in the bar-room, as it was not the cus- 
tom there to observe this as a part of 
the, Sabbath. As I entered, the father 
asked me to walk out with him. A 
momentary anxiety as to the result of 
the interview, did not prevent my 
complying with his request. When 
we were fairly by ourselves, he said, in a 
subdued tone, u l wanted to see you 
about my little boy." And here a flood 
of tears, for a moment, prevented farther 



78 THE TRUANT EOY. 

conversation. After he recovered from 
this overflow of feeling-, he proceeded : 

" What ought I to do with him ; 
must I whip him again ? " 

" How does he appear, and what does 
he say ?" I inquired. 

" Why, he came home tother night, 
and said he got punished at school, be- 
cause he stole the master's comb, and 
a plummet, and because he had told 
lies ; and that the master said his pa 
ought to whip him too. But then the 
little fellow begged so, and sobbed as 
if his heart would break, and I could 
not bear to whip him. But if you think 
it necessary, I will, hard as 'tis ; but I 
hate to do it. He is the best boy I 
have : he's always so kind and willing ; 
and he pleads and promises so earnest, 
I can't bear to punish him, but I will 
if you say so." I assured him that if the 
boy had come home and frankly confess- 
ed his faults and seemed penitent as he 
described, I thought he might safely 
forgive him without further punish- 
ment. This seemed a great relief to 



THE TRUANT BOY. 79 

his feelings, and his whole appearance 
and conduct were so different from 
what was expected, that the interview 
was affeetingly interesting. He alluded 
to his domestic calamity as connected 
with the delinquency of the boy ; but I 
did not then understand the full meas- 
ure of his meaning, nor till I learned 
from other sources that the poor child 
had been systematically taught to steal 
and lie by his drunken mother. The idea 
was horrid ; but the proof of the fact 
was abundant. She had taught him to 
steal eggs from the neighbors' barns, 
and small articles from various sources, 
by which a few cents could be obtain- 
ed to buy liquor. Her husband endeav- 
ored to keep liquor from her, but she 
taught this little boy to watch his op- 
portunity and steal gin from the distil- 
lery, and to procure it at the stores and 
taverns, on false pretences. As the 
keepers of these establishments were 
forbidden to sell to her, she instructed 
the boy to say that his father sent him, 
and to give some reason for it. At one 



80 THE TRUANT BOY. 

time, he must say that his father had 
cut his finger, and wanted some spirit 
to bathe it ; at another, that father had 
the head ache, and at another that he 
had friends. Thus the appetite of the 
mother was gratified at the expense of 
the moral principle of the child. And 
where the matter would have ended but 
for the stolen plummet, no one can tell. 
This led to disclosures which, per- 
haps, saved the boy from the lowest 
stages of crime. The reformation in 
him in this respect, seemed complete. 
On Monday morning I was in school, at 
an early hour ; and found him there 
engaged with his book, while the other 
boys were at play about the house. He 
was no longer the little truant boy, nor 
was he an idler in school, nor was there 
occasion to censure him for any thing. 
From being the most backward, he be- 
came, in six or eight weeks, the most 
faithful scholar in learning his lessons, 
and stood at the head of his class as 
often as any of his comrades. 

But this reformation was a vexation 



THE TRUANT BOY. 81 

to his drunken mother. She could no 
more prevail on him to steal or lie for 
the gratification of her thirst. # * 

A few months only passed away, be- 
fore that mother found means to help 
herself. She broke into the distillery, 
and drank a quantity of "high wines," 
and in a few hours was a bloated 
corpse. 

# The winter following, 
this little boy was again my pupil, in 
the same school, and a happier boy is 
not often to be met with. A powerful 
revival of religion occurred in the 
neighborhood: the school-house was a 
Bethel. The teacher had no such strug- 
gles with conscience on the subject of 
religious instruction as is noticed above. 
Many of the scholars, from week to 
week, were seen weeping over their 
books, or retiring to the forest, where 
the pocket-comb was lost, to vent their 
sorrows in secret prayer. Some who 
thus went weeping, returned with the 
smile of joyful hope upon their counte- 
nance. More than twenty of the schol- 



82 THE TRUANT BOY. 

ars expressed hope of an interest in the 
Savior; and among the number was this 
little truant boy. He had then a quiet 
home, rendered cheerful by the atten- 
tions of a kind step-mother, and his af- 
fectionate disposition Won the hearts of 
those who knew him. His love for his 
teacher was unbounded, and his pro- 
gress in study rapid and uniform. * * 

A few years after this, while passing 
through the place, I was gratified to 
meet this pupil, now a large boy, and 
to hear a good account of him from bis 
employers. This good account has 
been confirmed by all reports from him 
up to this period, and gives strength to 
the hope that the reclaimed truant boy 
may become a useful man. 



THE "GENEROUS HEARTED." 

Who does not desire, at times, to 
know the real wants and sufferings of 
the poor, not to make them objects 
of derision and wanton remark, but 
to share in the sympathy which their 
circumstances demand ? For one, I 
would not be deprived the privilege 
of sympathizing with the real suf- 
ferings of the poor, for all the ease 
and plenty and luxury of the rich. And 
sufferings described, I could never sym- 
pathize with as with those I could see 
in their own dark cell. And why not 
enter the lowly hut of poverty, although 
a. stranger, perchance, to see and sooth 
a widowed mother, to dry an orphan's 
tears, or to beguile its aching heart 
by a simple story of God's goodness 
to others in like circumstances. 

With such feelings I knocked at the 
door of a low, miserable hut, one sun- 



84 THE GENEROUS HEARTED. 

ny afternoon in December, and was 
welcomed by a woman of forty-five or 
fifty years of age, whose countenance 
bespoke the recollection of better days, 
and happier prospects shrouded in the 
gloom and sadness of present sufferings 
and withered hopes. There was no 
wood-pile at the door, and the walls of 
the dwelling had been robbed to kindle 
the warmth within. The poor cow 
seemed to disdain her open, cheerless 
hovel, and hovered round the door of 
the house, as if suffering with hunger, 
and the noisy geese seemed aggravated, 
and in their way resented her encroach- 
ments, and disputed the territory with 
her inch by inch. The chimney top 
was broken down nearly to the roof, 
and the glass had disappeared from 
the windows ; its place was supplied 
with shingles, old hats and rags ; and 
scarcely glass enough remained to af- 
ford sufficient light for the performance 
of domestic duties. Of furniture, there 
was little remaining, and some of 
that sadly disfigured, as if violence 



THE GENEROUS HEARTED. 85 

dwelt there. Some of the chairs were 
broken, and others nearly destitute of 
seats, although repaired with strings and 
cords. Every feature told of wretch- 
edness, — and yet there was something 
which seemed to say that this woman 
and her daughter, (the only persons I 
saw on entering,) were doing as well as 
they could. 

Both looked sorrowful, and yet en- 
deavored to be cheerful. There was an 
air of neatness in their plain cheap 
dress, and both were busily employed 
with their needles repairing dresses for 
small children. The floor was as clean 
as such a floor could be made with a 
brush-broom, and the few articles of 
crockery were neatly arranged in the 
lower part of an open cupboard, that 
stood in the corner. On the upper shelf 
of the same cupboard, were some sus- 
picious looking things that seemed to 
belong to another owner, and as I sup- 
posed the owner to be a widow, it was 
difficult to account for them. In the 
corner, too, was something inexplica- 
8* 



86 THE GENEROUS HEARTED. 

ble. A pile of bed-blankets and rugs 
presented an unusual appearance ; but 
it was partly concealed by the mother, 
who sat near it. Without seeming to 
notice any thing, except the mother and 
daughter and their employments, after 
passing remarks on the pleasantness of 
the day, our conversation turned upon 
a subject which would naturally come 
up. 

"You have other children beside this 
daughter, I suppose, as you are prepar- 
ing dresses for them." 

"Yes, I have four others, but they 
are all young. Two of them go to 
school." 

It was soon manifest that the other 
two had been put away to bed, so that 
their clothes could be washed and men- 
ded. Their little eyes could now be 
seen peeping out through the cracks be- 
tween the rough boards that separated 
the bedroom from the other apartment. 

"Your husband is dead, I suppose ; 
how long has he been dead ? " 

"No, my husband is living ; he lies 



THE GENEROUS HEARTED. 87 

here in the corner by the fire. He is 
not well." 

Ajdeep sigh, as she uttered this re- 
ply, and a deep blush on the counte- 
nance of the daughter, told more plain- 
ly than words could tell, that the secret 
of their poverty and sorrows was re- 
vealed. But to make the matter still 
more plain, if possible, the mysterious 
bed-blankets began to move, and soon 
disclosed a huge and frightful visage. 
There was the wreck of a man, above 
the usual size, of fair proportions, and 
who, in other days, must have been 
qualified for better scenes. But his 
face was carbuncled and bloated, his 
eyes blood-shot, his hair and beard long 
and filthy, his lips pealed and blistered; 
his voice was unearthly, and his limbs 
seemed to defy his control. His bois- 
terous salutation, which seemed design- 
ed as a friendly greeting, was frightful, 
as he was laboring to balance on his 
elbow, and extricate his feet from the 
pile of blankets. After repeated efforts, 
he secured something near an upright 



88 THE GENEROUS HEARTED. 

position ; but his knees trembled, and 
his whole frame was palsied. He could 
walk but little, and that little required 
the frequent help of chairs. He grasp- 
ed my hand with an unnatural shake, 
and thanked me for calling to see poor 
folks. He declared that he had not al- 
ways been so poor, that he used to live 
in that white house yonder, and 
live like other folks. "But, 0," said 
he, u I have been unfortunate. They 
have got my property all away from 
me. — But I've got some fine children. 
That's my oldest daughter. Aint she a 
slick girl ? And I've got four others, 
and they are as good as any body's 
children, I tell you." 

The stench of rum and tobacco which 
his scorching breath was pouring out, 
all this time, was intolerable ; and the 
poor wife and daughter seemed inde- 
scribably wretched, almost incapable of 
using their needles. By this time he 
was suffering with thirst, and apologiz- 
ed for not offering me " something to 
drink" before. He staggered away to 



THE GENEROUS HEARTED. 89 

the cupboard, and took down a black 
earthen jug, with the handle broken off, 
and a cob in the place of a cork. Plac- 
ing this on the light-stand, with a bro- 
ken tumbler, and a tea-cup of molasses, 
u Come, sir, come," said this poor ob- 
ject, " let us take a little of the good 
stuff." 

" No, sir, I don't make use of that 
sort of stuff. That is not good stuff." 

"Bat why not ?" 

u Because it makes men silly, spoils 
them for business, makes the breath 
smell bad, and destroys common sense, 
and domestic happiness. It makes chil- 
dren ashamed of their parents, and 
mothers weep in secret places. And it 
prepares men to commit all sorts of 
crimes, or carries them hastily into a 
loathsome grave." 

u Ho, I guess you mean to twit upon 
facts, don't you." 

"I am stating facts, and leave men to 
see for themselves where they apply." 

"I can't argue with you yet; I am too 
dry. I know a little don't hurt me. So 
here's a health to you." 



90 THE GENEROUS HEARTED. 

It was in vain to reason the case with 
him, or to urge him not to drink the fil- 
thy poison. I begged of him to have 
mercy on his wife and children, and for 
their sake to abandon the use of spirits. 
But he was too drunk to be moved by 
argument or entreaty. Having swal- 
lowed an immoderate dose, he returned 
to his corner, and enveloped himself as 
well as he could in the blankets, mutter- 
ing the praises of his wife and children, 
and cursing his hard luck in the world. 

" Is there no help for it? Can noth- 
ing be done to save us from all this mis- 
ery ? " 

Such was the language of the burst- 
ing, stricken heart of this care-worn 
mother. The appeal was affecting. Of 
course there was no help unless he 
would abandon his cups. I assured her 
that some as far gone as her husband, 
had been reclaimed, and if he could be 
prevailed upon to do as they had done, 
there was hope. 

"But he will not give it up. He loves 
us all, but he loves rum more." 



THE GENEROUS HEARTED. 91 

"And have you tried what prayer can 
do ? " 

"How can I pray with such a load 
upon my spirit ? ! if I were a widow, 
and my children fatherless, I could have 
some hope of securing the favor of the 
widow's God. But what prayer shall I 
now offer, and with what hope of ac- 
ceptance ? " 

I could not but secretly pray for her, 
" God, leave mercy on the thousands of 
icidows whose husbands are not dead, and the 
tens of thousands of more than orphans, wJwse 
fathers are not yet in their graves." After 
commending her and her family to the 
mercy of God, I left them, desiring to 
know more of their history than I could 
think of drawing from her own lfps. 
* * * The "white house" to which 
the wretched man had pointed, attrac- 
ted my attention, and I soon introduced 
myself to its possessor ; and after in- 
quiries relative to the object of my vis- 
it, I inquired after the family in the 
miserable hovel I had just left. 

" I know their history well," said the 



92 THE GENEROUS HEARTED. 

gentleman. " That man, in early life, 
was the pride of his associates. He 
was handsome and amiable, and might 
have been now the possessor of an im- 
mense fortune. He owned all that ex- 
tensive granite quarry, and built this 
house, and might have been the sole 
owner of the whole. But he was a 
generous hearted creature, and never could 
deny himself a social glass. The love 
of drink grew upon him, he made bad 
calculations, and became involved, so 
that about the time the granite began 
to be in demand, he was obliged to give 
up the whole, and his course has been 
downward, till he has become the most 
loathsome of drunkards, and his family 
suffer from want. He will sell every 
thing his wife can procure, if he can 
lay hands upon it, and buy liquor to 
lie drunk with, and sometimes abuse 
his family unmercifully. 



WHO ARE ITS VICTIMS 1 

" But you have a daughter; and she, at least, 
you are sure must escape. In due time, she is 
united to the husband of her choice and yours, 
and all your hopes, are realized. You behold 
them living in peace and love. But the tempt- 
er comes into their bower of Eden. The man 
begins to taste the forbidden cup; he indulges 
in his glass at the social board; by degrees the 
appetite increases; it grows as time rolls on, 
till this once tender husband and father becomes 
morose and unkind, no longer attracted by the 
endearments of his wife, or the caresses of his 
children. He becomes the tyrant of his fam- 
ily." — P. Spragtje. 

It was on the fertile banks of one of 
the most delightful of those New Eng- 
land rivers, too small for navigation, 
that I sat down by the cheerful fire-side 
of an enterprising young man, who had 
located himself in the little village not 
long before. He had married a lovely 
daughter of Mrs. — — , who was famil- 
iarly called the Widow . The 

9 



94 WHO ARE ITS VICTIMS ? 

mother and another daughter were 
members of the family, and made up, 
altogether, an interesting group. The 
country was yet comparatively new, 
and religious privileges, of a public na- 
ture, few and far between. But the 
mother and her daughters had held de- 
lightful communion with the church of 
Christ in the place of their former resi- 
dence ; and a sweet spirit of piety 
breathed through the intercourse of the 
family, and made it a desirable retreat 
for the weary missionary, while survey- 
ing the moral wastes of the region. 
There was something in the counte- 
nance, delicate frame, elevated intel- 
lect, and cultivated manners, of the 
mother, and in the impress which the 
daughters had apparently received from 
her forming hands, that fixed the con- 
viction, after a short acquaintance, that 
this mother was of no mean origin, nor 
destitute of early advantages. There 
was a chastened feeling evidently per- 
vading all the intercourse of this moth- 
er with her family and her guest, — a 



WHO ARE ITS VICTIMS ? 95 

tinge of sorrow even, in her lighted 
joyous countenance, which seemed to 
say that some grievous wound had been 
inflicted, deeper than the ordinary in- 
flictions of widowhood. On one occa- 
sion, when an opportunity occurred for 
uninterrupted conversation, I inquired 
how long she had been a widow. She 
replied, with a suppressed sigh, " My 
husband, I suppose, is still living." I 
had not courage to ask another ques- 
tion, fearing to press inquiries which 
had too long and too deeply stung a 
delicate heart, and almost destroyed a 
once vigorous constitution. After a few 
moments of silence, she continued : 
"My lot, as a mother, has been pecul- 
iar, and is a striking comment on the 
uncertainty of the fairest prospects, and 
the fallacious character of youthful 

hopes. My grandfather was Dr. , 

the first president of — — college. My 
mother was a cherished daughter, and 
received the best advantages which, at 
that day, could be secured. He gave 
her cheerfully in marriage to my father, 



96 WHO ARE ITS VICTIMS ? 

who was one of the earliest professors 
in the college, and their united and 
self-denying efforts were constantly in 
exercise, to train up their children in 
the way they should go. Early in life, 
with the approbation of both parents, I 

accepted the hand of Dr. — — L . 

Our attachment was mutual, ardent, 
and of long standing He had been a 
beloved and successful student in the 
college, and received nearly the highest 
honors of his class, as well as the re- 
spect and attachment of his associates. 
At the time of our marriage, he was 
settled as a physician and surgeon, and 
had acquired unusual celebrity for a 
practitioner of his years. His circuit 
of practice was large and lucrative. He 
was a kind husband, and a faithful 
counsellor. Years of happiness passed 
away, and a lovely family of children 
was growing up around us, to add to 
our joys no less than to our cares. # # 
But a sad change — a dark cloud 
came over our bright horizon. My 
husband became addicted to intemper- 



WHO ARE ITS VICTIMS ? 97 

ance, and it changed his whole nature. 
In the place of kindness and affection, 
there was cutting reproach, injury and 
abuse. The community, at that period, 
slept over this vice, and I was myself 
blind to it, till my husband was ruined, 
and peace had fled from our dwelling. 
Then remonstrance and entreaty came 
too late. He had seasons of relenting, 
but did not reform. Liquor seemed to 
make him insane, and rage and fury 
were the characteristics of the man, 
who, for years, had been the best of 
husbands, the kindest of fathers. Often, 
when he returned home late at night, 
myself and children trembled with 
terror at his approach. Many a time I 
was obliged to make my escape from 
our bed-room window, with an infant 
in my arms, drawing after me another 
little one that slept in the same room, 
as the only means of saving our lives. 
At length, worn out with fear and hard- 
ship, I was constrained to leave him, as 
the safety of my life and the lives of 
our children seemed to demand this 



98 WHO ARE ITS VICTIMS ? 

painful step. This took a strong hold 
of his feelings ; for, in his sober mo- 
ments, he loved us tenderly. He aban- 
doned his cups, and was a sober man, 
and began to attend to his neglected 
business, and to regain public confi- 
dence. His mind was strongly impress- 
ed with religious truth, and he appear- 
ed truly penitent. I could not refuse to 
live with him again, and for a time we 
were happy, and he seemed to be a 
reformed man. But he was at length 
overcome again by his ruling passion. 
His intemperance, and consequent in- 
sanity returned with renewed fury, and 
myself and children narrowly escaped 
with our lives, in repeated paroxysms of 
his rage. I dared not live with him 
longer ; and, after this, I was legally 
divorced from him. His habits contin- 
ued and increased upon him, till he 
sunk to the lowest stages of debauch- 
ery > and married an abased woman, as 
abandoned as himself. She, I believe, 
is since dead, and he still lives, the 
mere wreck of his former self. My 



WHO ARE ITS VICTIMS ? 99 

heart bleeds at the recital, and the rec- 
ollections of former days : but in all 
this I view the hand of a kind heavenly 
Father, supporting and leading- me on- 
ward through trials I could not other- 
wise endure. I cannot cease to love 
him. There is a feeling in my heart 
that cannot die. Neither time nor place 
can extinguish it : but the grace of God 
can enable me to endure it. It is a 
privilege still to pray, and hope for his 
reformation. And it is a precious con- 
solation, that none of his children fol- 
low in his steps. All of them are com- 
ing forward in life in circumstances to 
add to a mother's joy, and attest the 
faithfulness of our heavenly Father^ 
promise." 



CATALOGUE OF BOOKS, &c. 

PUBLISHED BY THE 

•Mass. ISabbath School Society. 

C. C. DEAN, AGENT, No. 25 Cornhill.... BOSTON. 



Memoirs of Charles Pond, 3d ed., . $0,21 
Do. of John Arch, a Cherokee Young 

Man, 2d ed., ... 09 

Do. of Samuel Davies, . . 21 

Do. of Myra W. Allen, Missionary to 

Bombay, 2d ed., enlarged, . S3 
Do. of Mary West, a Sabbath Scholar, 12 
Do. ofWm. P. Hutchinson, . 09 

Do. of Lucy Maria Bigelow, . 12 

Do. of Hannah B.Cook, . . 09 
Do. of Ann Elizabeth Pierce, . 09 
Do. of Jane Judson, a Sunday School 

Scholar, with 8 cuts, . . 21 
Do. of Wm. Abbott Douglass, . 09 
Do. of Felix Neff, Pastor of the High 

Alps, . . . . . 21 
Do. of Robert Cutts Whidden, 3d ed., 09 
Do. of Miss Susanna Anthony, by 

Prof. Pond, 2d ed., revised, 24 

Conversations on the Sandwich Islands 

Mission, 2d ed., . . 30 

Do. on the Choctaw Mission, 2d ed., 30 
10 



2 Publications of the 

Conversations on the Mackinaw and Green 

Bay Indian Missions, 2d. ed., 21 
Do. on the Geylon Mission, 2d ed., 28£ 
Do. on the Cherokee Mission, 2d ed., 24 
Do. on the Seneca, Tuscarora and Cat- 
taraugus Indian Missions, 2ded., 18 
Do. on the Chickasaw and Osage Mis- 
sions, 2d ed., . . . 24 
Do. on the Bombay Mission, 2d ed., 24 
The Parent's Monitor and Teacher's As- 
sistant, 2 vols., each . . 24 
The Stanwood Family, or the History of 

the American Tract Society, 2d ed., 24 
The History of the Pilgrims, or a Grandfa- 
ther's Story of the first Settlers of New 
England, . . . . . 24 

History of the American Bible Society, 21 

An Epitome of the Evidences of Christian- 
ity, by Cyrus Mann, 2d ed., . . 24 
History of James Mitchell, . . . 18 
The Naval Chaplain, 2d ed., . . 21 
Louisa Ralston, or what can I do for the 

Heathen ? 2d ed., . . . 21 

Claims of the Africans, or the History of 

the American Colonization Society, 33 
Hugh Clifford, or Prospective Missions on 
the North West Coast, and at the 
Washington Islands, . . . 15 
The African Traveller, or Prospective Mis- 
sions in Central Africa, . . 24 
Prospective Missions in China, . . 21 



MassachuseAts Sabbath School Society. 3 

Prospective Missions in Java, . . 21 
Do. do. in Sumatra, . 21 

Stories and Sermons for Children, . 13J 

The Cannibals or a Sketch of New Zealand, 13J 

Merrill's Harmony of the Kings and 
Prophets, 1 00 

The Widow of Monmouth, or Family In- 
struction, 24 

The Widow of Monmouth, or Family In- 
struction, part 2d., . . . 24 

The Reformation, or a Tale of the six- 
teenth Century, ^ S7£ 

Plea for the Heathen, or Heathenism, An- 
cient and Modern, .... 30 

Little Osage Captive, by E. Cornelius, 2d 

ed., improved, . . . . 15 

The great Apostacy, by Harvey Newcomb, 
Author of several volumes of Church 
History published by the American 
Sunday School Union, ... S3 

A Practical Directory for Young Christian 
Females, being a Series of Letters 
from a Brother to a younger Sister, by 
the Author of the great Apostacy, 37 J 

Arkansas Cherokee Mission, . . 13J 

Religious Exercises for Christian Families 
on Infant Baptism, . . . 18 

The Lottery Prize, a Story founded on fact, 09 

Letters to Little Children, or the History 
of Little Sarah, . . . . 12 



Publications of the 



The Clinton Family, or the History of the 

Temperance Reformation, . . 87 i 

The Tract Distributor, &c, . . . 18 

The Pilgrims, 09 

Female Influence, or the Temperance Girl, 22J 

Letters from China, to Children, by Rev. 
E. C. Bridgman, .... 21 

The Bible Class Book, Nos. 2 and 3, each, 05 

A Biblical Catechism, designed for Infant 
Sabbath Schools, Nos. 1 and 2, each, 

Facts for Sabbath Schools, . 

Sabbath School Songs, or Hymns and Mu- 
sic suitable for Sabbath Schools, by 
Lowell Mason, Professor in the Boston 
Academy of Music, 

Creation, . . . 

The Jewish Babe, 

The Favorite Son, 

The False Prophet, 

Map of Palestine, .... 1 

Do. do. on Rollers, 

Class Papers, per hundred, . 

1 set Scripture Cards, . 

Biblical Catechism, No. 3, 

First Foreign Mission ; or Journey of Paul 
and Barnabas to Asia Minor — by Win. 
A. Alcott, . . . . 

Life of Columba, the Apostle of Scotland, 
being the seventh volume of the S. S. 
Church History — by H. Newcomb, 

Memoir of George Shepard Boltwood, 



05 
21 



m 

09 
09 
13£ 
23^ 
00 
00 
50 
13 
5 



25 



20 
12 



Massachusetts Sabbath School Society. 5 

Memoir of Rev. Amos Petting-ill — by Rev. 
Luther Hart, . . . . 37i 

Prospective Missions in Abyssinia, . 18 
The Dark Ages : being the eighth volume 
of S. S. Church History — by Harvey 
Newcomb, . . . . . 16 

The Pilgrim's Progress, abridged for Sab. 

Schools, with 28 engravings, . . 3TJ 
History of the Waldenses : being the tenth 
vol. S. S. Church History — by Harvey 
Newcomb, . . . .42 

The Mount of Vision : or Illustrations of 
Religious Truth, .... 20 

Anna Elmore : or Trials of Infancy, . 18 
History of the American Education Socie- 
ty, ...... 21 

Hints and Sketches for Young Minds, 21 

Scraps from an Agent's Note Book, . 21 
The Model Family, . . . .19 

Conviction not Conversion, illustrated in 

the life of Rev. Thomas Halyburton, 12 
The Second Foreign Mission : or journey 
of Paul, Silas, Luke, and Timothy to 
Europe— by Wm. A. Alcott, . 30 

Sab. Sch. Miss. Associations— by Rev John 

Scudder, Am. Missionary in Ceylon, 12 
Memoir of Sarah Ann Bliss, . , 12 
The Life of the Phrophet Jeremiah, \% 

The True Word of Prophecy : or Prophe- 
cy Fulfilled in the Destruction of Bab- 
ylon, . . ... . 12 

Memoir of Caroline S , . . 12 



6 Publications of the 

Mary Inglis, the Beloved Domestic, . 18 

The Westminster Assembly's Shorter Cat- 
echism, . . . ... 3 

Exercises on the Shorter Catechism, in 
which the Answers are minutely dis- 
sected, &c, 124 

The Lollards : containing an account of 
WicklifFe, Jerome of Prague, Huss, 
and other eminent persons; being the 
eleventh vol. S. S. Ch. History — by 
Harvey Newcomb, ... 35 

The Golden Rule, a Dialogue between 
Little Grace and her Mother, . 15 

Heaven: or the World of Glory, . 15 

Fragments from the Note Book of a Home 
Missionary, SN 

Story of Ruth the Moabitess, . .25 

Gilbert Douglas, or a Sabbath at my Grand- 
father's 13£ 

The Mountain Ramble; together with a 
Story of a Little Boy of Four, . 09 

The Wyandot Chief: or the History of Bar- 
net, a converted Indian, and his two 
Sons; with some account of the Wea 
Mission — by H. Newcomb, . 20 

The Life of Peter the Apostle-— by W. A. 
Alcott, 30 

The S. S. Visiter: a monthly periodical; 
24 pp. 12 mo. with one or more cuts, 
and a piece of music furnished by L. 
Mason, Professor in Boston Academy 
of Music — 50 cents a year in adv. 



Massachusetts Sabbath School Society. 7 

The Superintendent's Companion, a card, 1 
The Teacher's Companion, do. 1 

The Scholar's Companion, with a cut rep- 
resenting the Teacher with his class 
around him, . . . . 1 

Do. do. some on fancy colored paper 

and some painted, 1£ 

A Set of* 82 Cards for Infant Sab. Sch., 6 
inches by 4, with a cut on each, to 
which is annexed a portion of Scrip- 
ture and a Hymn— -some are on fancy 
colored paper, and some on white pa- 
per with the cuts painted, . . 4 
The Dead Bird, . . . .12 

The Story of the Prodigal, . . .12 
The Happy Family made Happier: or the 
Resurrection of Lazarus, . . 15 



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